Wednesday, 26 January 2011

Pen, Lips, Fingertips

Pen, lips
Quiver in shards of light
Between these sheets
A moment meets
A gift of cold insight 

An old notebook
A whole world shook
A perfume bottle emptied
A scribbled line
A stitch in time
Saves a female tempted

An ancient urge
A conscience purged
A pleasure took place there
A grateful girl
Rejoined the world
Renewed through her despair

A discreet word
A spirit stirred
To spend a wanton hour
A pen, and lips

And fingertips
Trace a skin-sketched memoir.

Tuesday, 25 January 2011

This bloggy thing: A disclaimer.

So here I am. Here to write an incredibly self-indulgent blog (the clue was in the name, really) about whatever comes to mind.

I like to (need to?) write poetry and I get very passionate about music, period drama, nature, things that make me laugh and things that are just, well, hot. And sometimes I just write little expostulations or excitements in the form of a paragraph or two of wittering, which I’ll probably post here too.

I’ll warn you in advance that on some days I’m a weapon of massive consumption and on other days I’m philosophising about the meaning of life and the healing power of candlelight. Don’t try to keep up. Just roll your eyes and leave if my contrary nature gets to you. I won’t mind. Except sometimes I might. ;) Oh, and I think I’m hilarious. Apologies in advance for this. I’ve always been this way.
I use words like ‘conversating’ and ‘crunk’, because I’m half African American, and also words like ‘bravo’ and ‘splendiferous’ because the other half of me is very English. And I don’t care whether or not a word is in the dictionary, as long as I’m making some sense. Sometimes I’ll use a ‘z’ in philosophizing, and sometimes an ‘s’, and other times I’ll say gas when I mean petrol or football when I mean soccer.

A note about religion. My mum is Pagan and my late father’s family are Episcopalian, so after many years of mind-changing, and attendance at all of the important ceremonies for both belief systems, I consider myself both. Mostly because it’s so much more fun than being neither. And also because I like communion, but not wicca and nature but not the Bible. I dislike Christians OR Pagans who get preachy or judgmental. I like may poles, solstices and standing circles, but also hymns, church communities and prayers. I like whatever makes me feel closer to that which is higher than me. My favourite holy places are Trethevy Quoit, Cornwall and St. James’ Episcopal Church, Austin. I like to baptize myself in the ocean a couple of times a year. Who’s gonna try telling me that’s not holy water? See? Same same. The reason I bring this up is because if I mention God - which isn’t often - I’ll tend to capitalise the word. Not because it is ‘his’ name (note no capitalisation there), but because if pond life like George Bush gets capitals, then the universal life force of no particular gender which connects everything sure as hell deserves them. Yes I mentioned hell. You know what? Let’s not go there.

I’m fascinated by male/female relationships, the platonic kind, the romantic kind and the unromantic straight-up horizontal bop kind. I find Annalysing (geddit? wish I could take credit for that one) therapeutic and fun. I know that I probably won’t draw a conclusion, and that if I do, it’ll be wrong. It’s about the journey. And about calling drunken focus groups (otherwise known as my friends) to debate gender role and relationship theories. However it should be noted that a huge percentage of my friends are men, so if I come across a mite chauvinistic at any point, don’t be surprised. I’m a member of a group on facebook called “I wish it was 1950 so I could stay home and bake all day.” A good friend of mine in the States pointed out that if it was 1950, I wouldn’t be allowed to mix with white people - especially men. Which I soon realised would make me currently, a 24 year old friendless virgin.

Oh yes. I also get sidetracked easily when I’m writing.
If my neuroses haven’t scared you away yet, we might have a chance at something beautiful here. Stick around.


Well I'm ready to study you friend
I'm gonna read your book til the end
I didn't read the last page
I'm just feeling my way
And then I might read you again

As long as there’s candlelight
You're printed in black & white
And sometimes grey
But that's OK
Because I’ve got time tonight.

Monday, 24 January 2011


Call out my name like you mean it
When I dance and flash through the night
This coffee skin and these fiery eyes
Have you firmly set in their sights

An English rose and pauper
An African glamazon queen
Earthily imperfectly female
And you still seem to be keen

My hair is bristling nature
My body is flawed happenstance
My soul unpolluted and tactless
And you're still craving romance

My house has a door which is open
If you're brave enough, come and find me
I've got laughter and song and food and love
And passionate poetry.

Here goes nothing...

So I've decided to start an online collection of my poetry and other written odds and ends, because I realized I have an irrational fear of people reading my writing, so naturally, I decided to publish it on the internet. Fears are made to be faced and all that. For now I’m only inviting friends and fam to have a gander, and we’ll see how it goes. Most is personal, some is hypothetical. Some poems are recent, some were written in 2002, some in between. And no, I'm not telling who inspired what, or when I wrote what, (unless you ply me with wine and ask really nicely). That would ruin the fun, hm?